I could tell he struggled to get the last few words out. His breathing was bad today. Dad, a retired homicide detective, had been diagnosed with emphysema when I was thirteen. Now the disease had progressed to the point where he needed an oxygen machine at all times.
“Well, looks like I have a date,” I told him, as I sat in the tattered armchair across from where he rested on the couch. “And it’s with my boss.”
His tired, grey face brightened. “That’s great. I’m always telling you to get out more. When is it?”
“Eight o’ clock tomorrow. But you can’t be left alone…”
He waved me off. “Bah, call Lucy from across the way. She said she’ll come watch me when you need.”
Lucy rented the second half of the duplex we lived in. She was a nice older woman who, if Dad were healthier, I could see him running away with. “Okay, okay, I’ll go. Let me call Lucy now.”
***
I stared at myself in the cracked, bathroom mirror. My eyes, a smoky blue grey, were the only part of my face I liked. My nose was too big, my face too long, my chin far too pronounced. At least, I’d always thought so. I rarely wore make up, but tonight I decked out in some blush, a touch of eyeliner, mascara, and a muted shade of rosy brown lipstick that matched the dress I wore. I’d even splurged on a pair of contacts for the date. Truly decadent of me, considering the cost of Dad’s medication, but he’d encouraged me to go treat myself. The dress, however, was the only one I owned, and the satiny, slip-like garment had also been my prom gown. Thankfully it still fit, and was plain but classy enough to pull off as fancy dinner attire.
Lucy came running in the bathroom, her round face ruddy with excitement. “A limo just stopped outside. Look at you, Charlotte.” She beamed like a proud mother as she gazed at me. “You look lovely, and I think your date plans to spoil you.”
“Thank you, Lucy.” I leaned forward to hug her and place a grateful peck on her cheek. “For everything.”
She squeezed my hand tight, returned the affectionate peck. “Go have a wonderful time. Be Cinderella for a night. You deserve it.”
As I carefully picked my way down the front steps, wearing a pair of two inch heels so I wouldn’t break my neck, the driver exited the limo and opened the passengers door. Dmitri stepped out, looking like a fabled god carved from marble. His charcoal, tailored suit clung to the lines of his sculpted body. I felt like an ill dressed frump in comparison.
“My dear,” he said, as he took my hand and guided me into the vehicle. “You look stunning.”
I figured he was just being polite. How could I look stunning in a six year old prom dress and makeup borrowed from Lucy? I thanked him then sat with my hands folded in my lap, like a terrified schoolgirl, while he got in beside me. The driver shut the door, closed a smoky window that divided front from back, and we slipped away from the curb.
His hand enveloped my knee and he drew closer, until the side of his body pressed tight against mine. “I’m sorry I had to cut our time together short yesterday.” His fingers moved higher, swirling circles over the silky fabric covering my thigh. “Should we pick up where we left off?”
Before I had a chance to reply, he turned my face to his and claimed my lips again. The feeling he stirred in my mouth zipped right to my groin, bringing the tingle he’d sparked the day before back to life.
“Oh, Mr. Nich—I mean, Dmitri.” I gasped when his lips moved from mine and he licked the soft flesh of my neck, then he trailed the tip of his tongue over my collarbone. “This feels so good.” And it did. Even Doug, though I missed him terribly, hadn’t been able to elicit such an instant, lusty response from me.
“You feel like paradise,” he murmured, as he pushed my dress up over my thighs, then higher still, until the thin material pooled around my waist. “I knew you would. And you taste divine, too.”
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release Waking Up Werewolf Series by C.J. Sneere.
Waking Up Werewolf
(Waking Up Werewolf Part 1)
By C.J. Sneere
Warren appreciated the perfect life he now possessed. He just doubted it would last. He chided the cynic in him for being unappreciative as he walked his and Tamara’s dog, Tulle—a Boston Terrier / Beagle mix who had to sniff everything within her path.
“That tulip smells the same as the last one you smelled,” he told the dog, bending down to give her short coat a pet. “And, anyway, tulips don’t even smell, do they?”
Yes, life was good. No, great. He’d just been promoted to head ad designer in his department at his advertising firm. Tamara had moved in with him six months ago, and their relationship had deepened. He’d decided it was time to pop the question. But, first, there was something Warren had to tell his girlfriend of two years.